


Galactic Geographic

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: ... okay somebody was hurt, Gen, I Had To, Pure Crack, Shameless use of tropes, Shenanigans, Sith magic, Uhm, XD, but it was nobody we knew, character being convinced they lost a limb for a hot second there, i like that tag, it's such a nice word, no animals PCs or NPCs were hurt in the making of this fic, she-nani-gans, short scare over interaction with a wild animal, turned into an animal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: In which Yon is having a GREAT day. The rest of the base not so much.Whose idea was it to break containment on an uncategorised artefact anyway? Inquiring minds want to know. Please report to interrogation chamber six, post-haste.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is brought to you by my new habit of eating oranges on the go in the morning of all things, or rather the fact that for some reason doing that makes me a prime target for people asking for directions. Idk why. I wrote a joke about it to a dear friend of mine and the rest is fanfiction xD
> 
> *clears throat*  
> National Geographic voice: This predator is occupied and exhibiting signs of being an herbivore. Approach, but with caution.
> 
> Yes, I have seen Captain Marvel but to be fair I started writing this like two weeks before that (HAH) 
> 
> This is set in an AU where Raan (my Cathar JK) is Commander of the Alliance. Theron did all his adventures with him and hasn't really gotten to know Yon, who did make his journey to becoming the Empire's Wrath but didn't become the Outlander ( just if you are confused about how Theron acts in regards to him since I usually write them when they at least have a crush on one another. Well. He MIGHT have a crush but he is nowhere near to admitting it.)

 

 

For one mind numbing moment reality _warps_. It’s a sure-fire sign that Vette has been hanging out with the wrong crowd for _entirely too kriffing long_ that she can pin the prickling in her headtails down by feel alone.

_Oh bugger._

Nothing seems to immediately catch on fire, which is a plus, and no eyeless towering monstrosities crawl out of walls and/or the ceiling (also a plus and how sad is her _life_ ) so she… kind of ignores it while the newbies panic because their brain just tried to melt out their nose. Leaves the Gumbah up for grabs, ya know?

If it’s an emergency there’ll be a notice, or something.

So when Commander Raan flails his way through the door at a run, that’s how he finds her: Waiting out the chaos underneath a cantina table with about two helpings of pudding shovelled into her mouth and another three balanced precariously in her lap. (A growing girl has to eat!)

For a hot second or two they share an oasis of calm inside a (mostly) controlled hurricane of activity.

Raan’s mouth works through a few questions he doesn’t ask before settling on what is apparently the important thing. “Do you have any idea where the Wrath is?”

Hah. So he has finally cracked. They tried to leave off the article at first but it just wouldn’t stick. Yon’s the kind of guy that deserves a ‘the’. It feels silly to talk about him without it.

Or maybe that’s the pretentious title that goes along with the grammatical shenanigans.

Vette frowns. “Wha am I, hith nanny?”

Their illustrious Commander puzzles that out with a bristling of fur she’s pretty sure is what cathar do instead of twitching. _Heh. Heheheh. Score two!_

He’s a decent guy but he has such a serious stick up his tailed butt sometimes.

“So you don’t know?”

With a valiant effort, the twi’lek swallows and almost chokes herself on sugary goodness. That frown looks like she’s about to have her work cut out for her. “Why?”

 

* * *

 

Well. _Why_.

 _Because_ someone poked the wrong Sith thingy at the wrong moon phase (not that Odessen has a _MOON_ ) or whatnot and everyone who has been within spitting distance of it has… they have…

 

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“ _No,_ ” it’s remarkable how Raan manages to sound patient-ish and at the end of his rope at the same time. That’s some Jedi-level shavit right there. “Vette, please, you know him. Is there anywhere you can think of- or, or maybe something you identify as- as-“

The whole thing still doesn’t quite compute. “As what? His _soul animal_?” Vette knows she sounds more than a little incredulous but… seriously! “How would I know! Do I look like a walking kitschy personality test!”

 

… every person that came close to the now inert black stone tablet at any point between acquisition and today’s containment breach has turned into a creature. Each and every single one. Vette glances at the small feathered thing that is pecking curiously at a console it probably should leave well enough alone. Unless Raan is having her on, that used to be that Drellik fellow.

She can kind of see it if she squints _real hard_. It has that sort of face. Beak. Whichever.

Apparently security had to lock up the original Mandalorian escort, which became a literal pack of Akk dogs and isn’t _that_ great? As their first order of business they tried to use a couple of Jedi for chew toys.

In the hangar bay next to theirs officer Zayne is sleeping off the closest thing to a rancor sized tranquilizer medical could whip up on short notice. A damned good thing seeing as she currently _is one_. (A small one. Vette has seen bigger.)

The base over their remaining forces are desperately trying to contain an incursion of wildlife without shooting a critter that might turn out to be a friend in furry disguise. Chaos reigns supreme.

Somehow they’ve managed to lose Yon in the upheaval in spite of his fashion choices and pretty much everyone is freaking out about it. Go figure.

“Okay, animal. Huh.” Looks like it’s going to be one of those days.

 

* * *

 

“I mean, what should we even calibrate our sensors for? I can find whatever you like but you gotta give me something to look for here. ‘Probably not bipedal’ isn’t enough to go on right now.” Vette is tempted to roll her eyes at Theron’s gallows humor. So very tempted. “My money’s still on krayt. Maybe he made off into the valley?”

Lana on the other hand is less amused. “Don’t be an _idiot_ , Theron. Quarantine is intact. His last known location was within base perimeter. He’s here.” Every word is bitten out with the kind of annoyance you get from a Sith at the end of their non-existent patience.

 _He’s here._ Heavily implied: _With us_.

Vette ignores them and leans closer to the vid shots Theron is flipping through. There’s one thing that comes to mind immediately but…

“Just- just look for _weird_ okay? It will _definitely_ be weird.” That’s a given. Yon never does anything the easy way.

“Weird. Alright then.”

 

* * *

 

_Half an hour later_

 

“No. No. No.”

Theron squints at the latest pictures. “Are you sure? I thought that ackley was promising.”

Giving the resized image of the vicious beast another once over Vette huffs. It slashes at a Mandalorian warrior, who only escapes it’s clutches by rote of their jet pack and a decent helping of luck. “Nope. Pretty sure that’s Lord V’riel, actually, you see those face markings?”

“Yeesh. O-kay, we’ve got another nexu?” As if. The reason they are looking for a certain someone in particular in the first place is that whichever critter the tablet picked for their dearly transformed, it didn’t go far off the mark. If V’riel rates an ackley, Yon won’t be anything as cuddly as a _nexu_.

Also, why security thought it was a good idea to herd this one into the cafeteria is anyone’s guess. It’s taking advantage of the open space masterfully. Those things can _jump._

Vette catches a flash of white from the direction of the kitchen a moment before the large cat does. “Wait!” It’s just a hunch, a feeling but-

On the screen the nexu ignores the soldiers it was about to make sport of and dashes for the food distribution area, or rather the small creature that seems to have been drawn to the abandoned rations.

Beside her Theron hisses in sympathy. “Oh hells.”

Yeah. They haven’t only been struggling to contain the threat to keep the _unchanged_ personnel safe. Not everyone took officer Zayne for an example and turned into the biggest, meanest thing the galaxy has to offer and while some people seem to have retained a few characteristics or even sympathies… they really aren’t themselves right now.

So, the nexu, whomever it may be, makes a lunge for the small thing snacking on leftover sausage and sauce and there is no one who can do a whit about it, though one of the officers takes after it in a respectful sprint as if he’s going to try and tackle it. The choobies on that one…

The nexu hits the distribution table with enough force to crack the glass, claws first.

Their camera feed isn’t detailed enough to catch exactly what happens next. _Something_ does and if Vette is any judge it’s not what you’d expect.

Within seconds the great cat recoils as if it has been scalded, lashing out blindly and almost bowling over the soldier, who throws himself out of the way at the last second. It takes out three tables before it comes to a halt unmoving.

Theron’s hand hovers over his temple as the two of them just… _stare_ for a moment. That’s about as long as it takes that crazy nerfherder in Alliance uniform to go poke at the downed cat. It twitches. That’s _all_ it does.

“Theron?”

“Yes?” Their resident master spy sounds as if he really wishes he didn’t know what she was going to say next.

“Kitchen.”

 

* * *

 

By the time they get there the brave volunteers of the Alliance are in the process of carting off the nexu, possibly to medical. It doesn’t look so hot. Vette’s no veterinarian but she can recognize when someone has had their mug torn to bits. Yikes.

On second thought, the patrol is a little jumpy. They keep glancing at the kitchen window with varying degrees of alarm.

Their would-be hero has taken position at the door and now that they’re in the same room Vette could hit her head against the wall for missing it. “Torian! Hey!”

He flashes her a smile, though he waves her quiet at the same time. “Sssh. We’ve got a live one.”

Oh, _do they_.

“That’s why we’re here actually. Almost didn’t recognize you there,” yeah, really, “What happened to your armor?”

If he were less of a badass he’d probably grimace. There is a certain tilt to his mouth. “Don’t ask. I’ll tell ya over drinks sometime.”

Ah, that kind of story.

Vette peeks past him into the devastated kitchen area. _Aw, frell_. Nothing has survived unscathed. Cooking utensils are strewn everywhere and so are the remainders of their last meal. On one of the counters she finds what she is looking for: A small animal with blindingly white fur.

Kind of a cute little thing, actually. It has six legs and the general build of the predator that had the bad luck of mistaking it for an easy meal but it isn’t even knee high. Its long, pointy ears turn this way and that as she watches it lick at a pot that has fallen over and spilled yesterday’s purple gravy. The thin tail hanging over the edge of the table is easily twice as long as it’s body and covered in faint blue lines. So is the rest of its fur.

If this isn’t Yon, Vette will eat her boots.

She has one foot in the door when Torian’s hand firmly closes over her biceps. “Careful. That’s a quillbacked razorfang.”

“A what now?”

Behind them Theron makes a choked sound. “You are shitting me.”

“Nope. I’m no slouch but I’d suggest we wait for equipment, those beasties will bite right through beskar.” Not that they’re wearing any. Torian eyes the lazily flicking tail. “Pretty though. Hell of a trophy if you don’t croak trying to take it down.”

“Which you probably would. That’s the most venomous creature in any five systems I know of the top off my head.” Theron clears his throat which doesn’t quite manage to cover that he slipped into business mode. “How about we don’t poke that thing.”

Also yikes but, “How do _you_ know so much about that?”

“… Hutts, smuggling and someone too curious about shit even they won’t ferry.”

 _Alright then._ “Soooo. Fluffball of doom.” _Called it._

All well and good but if Vette is right and she’s pretty sure she is, “Guys. If that’s Yon and we try to put him in a box he will _shred us_ ,” and that’s in human form, “I’m bloody serious, okay?”

In the kitchen one of the last somewhat upright pans tilts and falls over with one hell of a racket. Fluffball-of-doom jumps in feline fright, slips on the purple gravy and goes tumbling arse over teakettle off the table. Elegant.

Torian slams the door closed and not a moment too soon.

The last thing Vette sees is the little menace hurtling underneath the heating station in a hissing ball of claws and mortal offense before a slab of metal blocks her view. It’s solid durasteel, seeing as that’s what the entire base is made of and thank all the little gods for that. A hot second later it shudders as a rain of thin, poison-blue spines impacts on the other side with enough force to have them poking out on theirs.

_Double yikes._

“That’s Lord Wrath, huh?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

They muster their near-death experience critically. In the end it’s Theron that handily sums up what they’re all thinking. “We are so screwed.”

“Hey, at least it’s not a krayt, right?”

Famous last words.

 

* * *

 

“Vette. Vette, no. This is a _bad plan_.”

 _As if I don’t know that, genius._ “Do you have a better one? We can’t leave him running around willy-nilly! Lana will try to have him _locked up_ and then I’ll have to explain to him why he’s picking the bones of people he doesn’t actively hate out of his teeth when he turns back.”

Theron visibly clenches his jaw. U-huh. Nothing he can say to that, hm? “He’s going to kill you.”

 _If I had a dime for every time someone told me that._ Here’s to hoping her streak doesn’t end today. Good thing that she has never shrunk from a challenge in her life. If she had she wouldn’t be here, she’d be nowhere _near_ here but she is.

“Look, you wanted my Wrath-wrangling expertise, here it is: If that’s his Gloominess, three things are true. One, I won’t even register as a threat, which yeah. Two, it will eat _anything_ ,” she steels herself and inches towards the door, “and three, if I feed it, it will love me. Wish me luck.”

 

The kitchen is a wide open space but the knowledge of what is _in it_ is enough to make anyone claustrophobic. Vette grips the ration bar tighter and swallows. _Be cool. Just be cool. Chances are he’ll know if you’re afraid. He always does._

No pressure.

It’s still under the heating station, grumbling in almost subsonic grouchiness. Vette could swear she knows that tone of… growl. Or maybe it’s more of a general vibe. The thing is remarkably expressive for a creature currently best described as a very deadly dust bunny.

_Heh. Hehehe. Dust bunny._

The joke carries her all the way past the workstations and then the moment of truth has come. _Okay, here goes._

Grouchy growling has been replaced by silence. Though it is quiet enough in the kitchen now to hear the soldiers milling around outside there’s an expectant quality to it, the prickling of threat waiting for a chance to take form.

Vette kneels down just about out of easy reach and doesn’t allow herself to hesitate. She breaks a small piece off the ration bar waits. Sure enough after a minute or two a small white snout pokes out from under the heating station, scenting the air curiously. She flicks the food at it and snorts when it retreats with a chitter.

A moment later the ration bar flakes are snatched by a paw.

_Okay. You can do this. Nice and easy._

“Isn’t that tasty? Hm?” No answer but she hadn’t expected one. “Want some more?”

In any form, Yon can recognize food when it is waved in front of his face suggestively. That’s kind of what Vette had been banking on. He sidles a little further out of his hiding place, slower and more wary than before.

When she throws him another morsel he twitches back but not all the way. _Score_.

“That’s it, come on. You know you want it. Come here…” One piece at a time the distance closes, inch by inch. Vette is more than uncomfortably aware that she has no idea how much of her friend is left in that tiny, furry body. No memories, no inside jokes, no way to talk herself out of trouble. All she has is the bone deep certainty that she knows him, still.

It might not be enough.

There’s only a third of the bar left and the animal is close enough to touch. It’s wide, amber eyes look at her expectantly and Force, it really is unfairly adorable, isn’t it? At least once you get past how bright and alien its stare is, pure predator with a hint of mischief.

Vette offers the rest of her lure on her flat palm.

Time seems to slow down. Yon’s round snout opens and _keeps opening_ , impossibly large. Vette has no idea what keeps her from pulling back reflexively in the face of _so many razor-sharp teeth_ , suns and stars. In a single bite he swallows her hand up to her forearm.

At the other end of the kitchen someone curses loudly, there’s some sort of commotion, _no, kriff, don’t startle him, not now-_

She doesn’t dare breathe.

Her world narrows to this single focus and-

Its takes her a heartbeat or two for something to get through the mind-numbing terror of having a limb bitten off. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts, she’s pretty sure it should hurt-

Actually. Wait a damned second.

Voice pressed into a furious whisper, the twi’lek fights a hysterical giggle. “You tiny _asshole._ ”

The creature makes a little ‘mrrr’ sound that has vibrations travel through her very trapped, very intact arm. Force. Fucking figures.

Yon doesn’t do this to her, had never done this to her, playing with her to see if she’d flinch but he does it to other people. He can be such a damned _bastard_.

Vette takes a shuddering breath and tries to get the shake out of her words. She’s not really successful. “Give me back my hand.”

It flicks its tail and doesn’t move an inch, the little gremlin. Right.

 _Come on. Shape up. It hasn’t even bitten you yet._ And if it did- ( _right through beskar_ rings through her mind, what is she even doing?)

It won’t. It won’t bite her because she will show it who’s boss. She won’t be bullied by a damned furball.

Forcing every ounce of steel into her voice she can manage, Vette levels a _look_ at the creature. “I am very disappointed in you. Spit it out.”

They have a small staring contest and just when she thinks she might lose, or that Theron might do something stupid like try and save her and _really get her arm torn off_ the animal that absolutely has to be her idiot Sith gingerly opens its bottomless gullet and lets her have her spit-soaked hand back. She still has all her fingers but there’s no sign of her rations.

It looks at her unforgiving visage soulfully. Her glare doesn’t soften. She knows that look.

After a moment it shudders a bit and hacks what has to be the last bit of ration bar back into her palm as a peace offering. Ew. That’s about as disgusting as it is cute and Vette refuses to bend.

If she gives in now he will tap dance all over her.

Casually she looks away, lets the chewed up goop slide to the floor and shakes her hand out with a sniff.

Something soft butts her knee with a sound of complaint. There are poisoned spines in the mix somewhere and- _Nope. Nope-di-nope. Not looking. I’m not looking._

The contrary little shit practically crawls into her lap to get her attention back, purring all the way.

 _Hook, line and sinker. Score for team Vette._ Great. What now?

When is Yon going to stop shaving off years of her life expectancy by sheer exposure?

_Probably never._

Her hands aren’t very steady when she chances an ear scratch. “That’s right. You’re a sweetheart aren’t you? You prick.” He butts his head under her chin and mrrow’s in possible agreement. “Right. … I’m going to pick you up now, please don’t murder me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes xD that last line was Captain Marvel's contribution to this fic. (I so loved that movie)
> 
> For the record: I don’t recommend pulling a Vette on wild animals xD she doesn’t either. This animal is special and it was still a stupid arse idea, quote unquote.


	2. Bonus Snippet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What," Theron asks, faintly, "is he doing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll xD maybe I just need a bit of a break from all the angst I wrote lately.

 

 

Theron can't help it. Every time he sees the small white animal move out of the corner of his eye he flinches. He knows eaxctly how deadly it is. Seeing one person die of the aftereffects of quillback poison would be enough for anyone.

That he is 99,8% sure it is the Wrath doesn't help. That guy is prone to send shivers down his spine just by entering a room.

His... current incarnation tumbles through Theron's field of vision with a chime of bells. He manages to turn his flinch into a cringe. Not that much of an improvement. "Vette I really need to work here. Can't you, I don't know," _take that little monster somewhere else?_ Yeah, that would go over well. "Bring him somewhere more quiet?" This environment has to be stressful for an animal, right? They don't... like people. And command centers. And officers who should really be working instead of worrying about getting stabbed in the back with poisoned needles.

"Eh, he doesn't like being alone." _Damn._ "And just look at him, he's having such fun."

He glances at the white furball. It is... it's...

"What," Theron asks, faintly, "is he doing?"

The animal is honest to the Force rolling around on the floor, wrestling with what looks like one of Oggurobb's gadgets. Or maybe a _bomb_.

Vette, whom Theron isn't sure has any sense of what danger or survival means, is watching it fondly. "Trying to get the treat out the ball. What does it look like he's doing?"

That. Uhm. "... you gave it a treat ball."

"Sure did!"

"You gave the _Wrath_ a _treat ball_." How is this a sentence that is applicable to his life?

Vette grins at him beatifically. "It's a tough one too. Good thing he's too stubborn to bite it open, huh?"

Yeah. Good thing he is too stubborn to _bite through metal_ like we all know he could. By all the little gods.

Theron watches the spectacle for a little longer, itching with the need to point out that at any moment the feline might lose its temper and shed quills.

It might. It really might, nevermind that it seems thoroughly engrossed in conquering that colorful monstrosity of a ball it's gnawing on. The toy is big enough the animal has attached itself to it with all six paws in an approximation of a bear hug. It's tail is swishing wildly.

"... have you made any holos yet?"

"Pfff, what do you take me for."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yon is never living this down.


	3. Bonus Snippet 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In loving reference of this beautiful video: https://darkshadeless.tumblr.com/post/185686434993/wecthil-drgrlfriend-sweetcribs  
> I stg XD

 

 

Vette has long gone to bed and taken her new pet with her when Theron finally runs out of kaf. Technically his shift is over and has been over for so long he’s seriously considering sliding right into the next one. No sleep is better than four hours right?

Right.

So, it’s possible that he is a _little_ out of it when he hits up the kaf dispenser. Just a little.

The entire command center is dark but for the tactical stations. He’s the last one in.

When he comes back his screen has grown eyes.

Two _huge_ , glowing, demonic eyes, right at the top and Theron is not proud of the sound he makes when they blink at him. It’s somewhere between a scream and a squeak. He fumbles his cup and ends up spilling it all over the floor when he instinctively goes for his blaster.

 ** _Kriff_**.

His heart hammers in his chest. Adrenaline pushes him all the way into awake and alert in the span of a second and Force damn it, he will have such a headache, he can already feel it-

The eyes move. Darkness coalesces into a shape that all but _drips_ down his screen to sit in front of it. Theron’s overtired brain doesn’t make the connection between the huge ears and the soul-sucking monster come to snack on him until it rumbles out a ‘ _mrrrrow_ ’.

_Dear. Fucking. Gods._

Ironically, knowing calms his heartrate although it just means he knows _exactly_ how much danger he is in. “… right. Great. Fantastic.”

 

* * *

 

Turns out it's next to impossible to get any work done when a _wild animal_ has claimed your station for a perch.

"Look, i really need this screen-"

"Mroooow."

Force freaking damn it. Theron twitches back before he touches the feline that has decided to sprawl over the control unit of his work station.

It makes a meeping noise of complaint.

"Right. Okay." What the kriff. He should just go to bed. He's not getting anything done tonight and it's so late it's _early._

That would be the logical thing to do, that's what Theron tells himself.

… but is he really going to be beaten by a _cat_?

While he is distracted, the Wrath noses his way under Theron's hand where it's hovering a good ways above his virtual keyboard. "Mrrrrr."

His nose is soft. That's _all_ he can ascertain before he all but jumps out of his skin.

"Kriffing hells!"

"Meow."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He loves you Theron. Pet him.


End file.
